


At The Midnight Hour

by nuuboo (orphan_account)



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4679504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nuuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smoking was bad for one's health, he knew, but there were worse things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At The Midnight Hour

The cool breeze felt good against his skin. What sweat there was had dried, leaving him feeling lethargic; he inhaled, drawing on the cigarette between his lips, and thought that he’d take a shower after his smoke. Leaning against the window with his shoulders stooping and hair disheveled, dressed boxers slipping past one hipbone, Iruka hardly looked the picture of the efficient, well-loved sensei. He looked haggard, with traces of stubble on his jaw and circles under his eyes that told of sleepless nights—nights like these, when sleep didn’t come and delinquent habits crept back like old, forgotten friends. 

Kakashi rose from the bed, fishing for clothing tossed haphazardly around the room. Everything he did was done in silence so admirable that had Iruka not seen him out of the corner of his eye, he might not have heard him at all. 

“What is it?” asked Kakashi, unintentionally sounding like a captain asking his subordinate for an assessment of the battlefield. Iruka smiled at the thought. For all his hidden kindnesses, Kakashi sometimes fell short in these areas; where he tried to sound gentle, he sounded gruff, and where he tried to be tender, he became awkward. It was a phenomenon so unlike a man of his reputation and position that Iruka considered it his own special privilege to know of its existence. 

Iruka watched the smoke waft out through the window. “Nothing,” he replied. Kakashi said nothing in response, and instead mirrored Iruka’s posture against the window frame. “I was just thinking. I don’t know what’s come over me… but lately, I’ve been thinking that perhaps I’m truly not suited to be a shinobi.”

“At the funeral last week… there was a large turnout. He was a friendly guy. I think it came as a sudden shock to people. Even now, when the war’s over and there’s peace among the villages… rogues are still threats. A shinobi’s job isn’t over.” He sighed, staring at the faint outline of the moon behind wisps of clouds. It was a beautiful, distracting sight, but not quite enough to shake the thoughts that kept him from resting. Were he an artist, he thought he’d paint it and tuck it safely away for times when he felt he’d need it again, but he wasn’t; all he could do was stare now, and hope that the memory would last. “Even now, nothing is certain. There is no safe, steady future. I could be sent on a mission tomorrow and be killed, and I’d be satisfied with that.” Kakashi looked over with a steady, hard gaze, but remained silent; he knew better than to interrupt what seemed to be a conversation of serious weight. “I’d be fine with it because it’s my duty. But if it was you out there… if it was you brought home to be buried… I’m sure now that I couldn’t bear it.” 

His brows furrowed, and Iruka took another drag. Exhaling a smooth stream of smoke, he felt it sting at his eyes and burn his nose when he breathed. “The thought of you gone from this world before me… no, I couldn’t bear it. I love you too much for that. And as a shinobi, that’s a weakness, isn’t it? I always thought that our humanity was something to cherish, but there’s a limit. One can only go so far while still being an efficient shinobi. Really, I’m not even half as strong as my students think I am. It’s all pretend—for their sake, and for mine. Something like that makes me unqualified to teach, but maybe that’s also why I do it. Maybe seeing them grow to become stronger than I am makes up for my own weaknesses, somehow.”

Kakashi moved, then. He stepped forward like a burglar, closing the distance between them without so much as a creak from the floorboards or the patter of his feet against them. Iruka hardly noticed the way Kakashi took the cigarette from his fingers, or the way he ground it out against the windowsill; if he had, he’d surely have complained. Kakashi leaned in and kissed him, lingering there for a few seconds longer than he normally would. His hand closed around Iruka’s wrist, gentle yet unyielding in its grasp. “I don’t like the taste of tobacco,” he said, tone low and gruff. “Stop smoking these.”

“Alright,” said Iruka, without much thought on the matter. Kakashi’s hand was warm, and made for a pleasant contrast to the cool wind. 

Kakashi said little else after that, and pulled Iruka back towards the bed. Tossing the sheets back, he motioned for Iruka to join him. His feelings weren’t lost between them. His silence spoke volumes to Iruka; his gaze expressed his understanding, and his quiet acceptance of Iruka’s strained confession—and that was enough. He held Iruka close that night, sleeping with an arm draped securely around Iruka’s waist. Kakashi was the Hokage, after all; he had no plans of going anywhere for many years to come. But even so, he knew he couldn’t say it. Saying it would mean a promise, and promises were things he never did manage to keep.


End file.
